


Asking is Agony

by OpensUp4Nobody



Series: Odd Unrelated Mini-fics [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But whatever, I dont know why i wrote this its so awkward, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:15:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpensUp4Nobody/pseuds/OpensUp4Nobody
Summary: Grantaire loses a bet, asks Enjolras out, panics halfway through, and is chased through the streets and into a graveyard.





	Asking is Agony

**Author's Note:**

> Let's pretend that for some reason this story is set in a small town, you know, just for fun.

Grantaire was in emotional agony. He was seated at the far end of the back room of the café Musain, as far from the front as he could manage, silently pleading for death when usually he would be loudly arguing with Enjolras.

Eloquent, beautiful, terrifying Enjolras.

They had been doing that a lot lately: arguing… fighting. Not that they didn’t have a history of fighting, but recently, more often than not, they fell into conflicts in need of outside intervention. Grantaire wasn't sure how exactly that had started, two months ago they had been almost friends. Now their troubled association seemed even more troubled than ever. Nothing of substance seemed to have triggered this shift, Enjolras simply seemed less tolerant of him. Perhaps he had finally outstayed his welcome as resident drunk and cynic.

At the front of the room, Enjolras was ranting about something that sounded a lot like regulation of offshore oil drilling, but Grantaire wasn't really hearing it. He was determined not to pay attention. Instead he was slumped in his seat, staring up at the ceiling. If he looked at Enjolras he might throw up or pass out or explode… all of which would be preferable to what he was about to do. In which case, perhaps looking would be in his best interest.

He lowered his eyes enough to watch Enjolras pull a hand through his wild golden hair as he demanded statistical support from Combeferre. He was the very picture of righteous fury. With a lurch of his stomach, Grantaire averted his eyes, having only succeeded in increasing his anxiety; wonderful.

Maybe he could sneak out. He was at the back, very near to the exit. If he was especially quiet, no one would notice him slip away. He shifted with the intent of testing this theory, but as though they were waiting for this move, Bossuet and Bahorel turned to stare at him, pinning him in place.

Grantaire pleaded with his eyes, but Bossuet shook his head and indicated he continue sitting. And so, Grantaire sighed, returning his gaze to the ceiling, waiting for the meeting to be over and regretting all of his life choices with one recent choice in particular.

He'd made a bad bet over the weekend, though it hadn't seemed a bad bet at the time.

He had bet Bahorel that Bossuet could not eat an entire banana without puking.

Bossuet could not stand bananas. Eating bananas made him sick. But he also desperately wanted to like bananas and sometimes—usually while drunk off his ass—he would force himself to eat a banana and then proceed to puke his guts out. This scene was usually accompanied by the sound of Joly shrieking at him in Korean. But in this case, it had just been Bahorel and Grantaire watching as Bossuet held a banana high, vowing that his would be the time he stomached the whole thing.

“And how many times have you tried?” Grantaire had scoffed.

“I’ve lost count,” Bossuet confessed.

“What makes you think this time will be different?”

“Don’t listen to him, Bossuet,” Bahorel encouraged, “I have a good feeling about this time.”

“Are you willing to put your money where your mouth is?”

“Name your price, R, I will show you the shame in doubting a friend.”

Grantaire had taken a moment to consider. “When I win, you have to clean out that bucket I found in the woods back in April.”

“The one that smells like death and is way too heavy for its size?”

“That’s the one.” He had found it half buried in the middle of nowhere, a paint bucket that seemed to have been glued closed.

“I thought you threw it out.” Bahorel wrinkled his nose. “It’s probably evidence of a crime. Or a dead pet.”

“Well it’s hidden in a secret tree at the moment and when you clean out the finger nubs inside, we can go to the police.”

“Fine, if you’re gonna play dirty. When I win you have to ask Enjolras out.”

Grantaire’s stomach had dropped but there was no way he was going to lose so he lifted his head confidently. “Fine.”

“I mean, really ask him out,” Bahorel restated, “Completely one hundred percent seriously.”

“I said, fine. Why not? There’s no way you’re going to win.”

They shook hands and then Bossuet devoured the banana.

Grantaire’s loss was narrow but it was a loss.

And now Grantaire was dying. He placed his head on the table in front of him, wishing to fall asleep and not wake up before Enjolras left. Or even better, never wake up at all. He was unbearably tired, he hadn't slept the night before and he was still too anxious to slip away.

The seconds dragged on for a thousand years before the meeting was called to an end. Grantaire held his breath, eyes squeezed shut, hoping to escape notice. His hopes were dashed when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Now is your time, R."

"I thought we were friends, Bossuet," he pleaded.

"You'll be fine," Bahorel insisted.

"I won't. I'm dying. I'm dead.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Do you think if I start crying he will take pity and not laugh at me?"

"R-" Bahorel started.

"Because I might anyway."

"R, he’s not going to laugh and you are going to be fine. Come here.” He tugged Grantaire into a hug as Bossuet ruffled his hair, doubtlessly they were drawing the attention of the others in attendance.

"I hate both of you," Grantaire whined pathetically.

“This is what you get for trying to make me clean out a murderer’s bucket of trimmings.”

“I want to know what’s in that bucket.”

“Ask Enjolras to investigate with you, call it a date.”

“Shut up, it’s going to be me in a bucket after this. When he rips my heart out of my chest, I want it packed away in a bucket and hidden from the world. Specifically, I would like it-”

"Stop stalling and go." Bossuet pushed him toward the front of the room where Enjolras was still speaking with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. The conversation paused as Grantaire approached, his legs moving without his permission.

"Hello, gang." He gave a pathetic attempt at cheeriness.

"R, you look like death." Courfeyrac noted.

"Thanks, Courf. I always appreciate your opinion, even when you don't know what you're talking about."

"Jesus, sorry. Bite my head off why don't you."

"Grantaire, are you okay?" Combeferre asked carefully, eyes moving with concern over Grantaire’s bloodless face.

"Fine," he said sharply, "Could I talk to you?" he asked Enjolras, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Sure.” Enjolras lifted a perfectly formed eyebrow, compelling him to speak.

Grantaire winced. "Alone?”

The blond sent a worried look to Combeferre, likely engaging in some form of low-level telepathy. Probably something along the lines of:

‘The fuck does this joker want, Ferre?’

‘I don’t know, Enj, but if you don’t go with him he looks like he might turn to ash and drift away.’

‘Oh, I hope so. Then I don’t have to listen to him rant at me anymore.’

Or perhaps not. The three of them were staring at him very strangely. “What?” Grantaire blinked.

“I said: of course, lead the away." Enjolras apparently repeated.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Grantaire turned on his heels and headed for the stairs, feeling the eyes of the room on them as they walked.

The café was empty apart from the members of Les Amis d’ABC; closed for the day, but the ever charming Enjolras had a copy of the keys and permission to hold meetings whenever he pleased. Grantaire brought them through the main room of the second floor and out onto the large terrace so that there was less chance of their conversation being heard before he turned to face Enjolras.

"Is something wrong?" Enjolras asked, tilting his head to scrutinize Grantaire, the daylight was likely making him look even more ghastly.

"No." His voice came out a little too high. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No, everything's fine." His mind was reeling, desperately hoping that by some miracle a meteor would fall from the sky and annihilate him.

"Are you sure? You do look a bit... ill."

"I always look like this."

Enjolras was unimpressed with his lie. "Maybe we should bring Joly in for a second opinion, just in case." He made to step back toward the door, but Grantaire grabbed his arm.

"No, I just-" He took a deep breath, which did nothing to halt his hammering heart. "Listen." He released Enjolras’ arm to rub a hand over his own face. "Ah, fuck. So, I found this movie that I think you would hate..." He winced. That wasn't where he wanted to start.

Enjolras’ face pinched in confusion. "Okay?"

"Uh, that came out weird. I mean- I don't think you would _hate_ -hate it. That is to say that, I think it would drive you insane in a 'oh this makes me so angry and I want to rant about it forever' sort of way and... Uh." He paused, losing himself mid-sentence.

"And?" Enjolras prompted, eyebrows furrowed, trying to understand where Grantaire was going with this.

"And, I was just maybe wondering if you wanted to watch it with me?" Grantaire heard the words spoken, but did not feel his mouth move. He was ten feet outside of his own body.

"With you." Enjolras repeated.

"Yeah, like maybe just the two of us… and I could maybe make dinner and you know..." He shrugged like it wasn’t a massive deal he was asking. Like he wasn’t desperately trying to eject his consciousness from his body in order to leave the conversation. Like he wasn’t sweating through his shirt.

"Like _just_ us?" The blond blinked.

"Yeah, just us."

Enjolras tilted his head as though he were pondering a fathomless problem. "Why?"

The word was spoken as though Enjolras could not think of a single reason why such a situation would come to be and it stung Grantaire to the core. He felt suddenly hot, then very very cold. But he had been prepared for this, or at least theoretically. He took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat and gave a shaky laugh. "Forget it, I can see you aren't interested. Say no more. Just forget I suggested it. It’s no big deal. At least I tried," he rambled, staring very intently at a dead vine that had wrapped its way around the railing of the terrace. If only it were summer and the flowers were out. Then perhaps he would be stung by a bee and saved from this situation through anaphylactic shock.  

"Hang on," Enjolras' voice swelled with understanding. "Grantaire, are you trying to ask me out?"

"No?" He fidgeted, staring at Enjolras’ shoulder rather than his face. He tried again with more certainty. "I mean, No. No, that is not what I'm doing. Nope. I'm actually just leaving. This is me going. Goodbye. It was nice knowing you, but I've really really gotta go. Things to... Yeah. You know how it is. Tell everyone I said goodbye." He backed toward the door with another bubble of laughter.

"Grantaire, wait." Enjolras stepped forward.

"This didn't happen. You're dreaming. Life is a miserable illusion. I'm not here. Goodbye." He increased the pace of his retreat, breaking into a run once he was through the door and turning down the steps. He could hear Enjolras running after him. 

"Grantaire, come back!"

Grantaire ignored him and leaped down the bottom five steps, nearly running over Courfeyrac, who was likely on his way to check on them.

"Grantaire what-" Courfeyrac said as Grantaire ran past.

"Out of the way, Courf!" He heard Enjolras shout seconds later.

Grantaire ran out the door, into the bright midday sun. He turned left and sprinted down the sidewalk. Not looking back to see if he was still being chased, he didn’t have time to lose, Enjolras had the advantage of longer legs. And besides, he could hear the sound of heavy footfall behind him. Unless that was a paranoid delusion born of sleep deprivation.

Regardless, Grantaire ran and ran and ran. Across the streets, down an alley, over a bridge, and up a hill until he hopped over the wall of the local cemetery with the intent of hiding amongst the graves. Unfortunately, he stumbled over a tree root as he ran, stalling for enough time that Enjolras broke into a dead sprint and flung himself forward, tackling Grantaire into the grass, grabbing him around the middle when he tried to slip away.

"No!" he panted, "You are going to listen to me! After you made me run-" he paused to gasp for air. "Stop struggling." He wrapped his legs around Grantaire's to prevent his getting up as Grantaire attempted to untangle himself.

"Whatever you're gonna say, I don't want to hear it!" Grantaire managed, not wanting to hear the manifestation of his rejection. "Bossuet and Bahorel told me to do it! I was kidding! It was for a bet! Take whatever excuse you like, just don't say anything!" Grantaire attempted to cover his ears and Enjolras reached up to pull them free. Grantaire tried to shove him but Enjolras lifted himself and sat on Grantaire's stomach with a sharp exhalation of air, holding him down at the shoulders.

"I was going to say yes, asshole!" Enjolras said through labored breaths.

That gave Grantaire pause. He blinked, staring up into Enjolras’ exercise flushed face. His struggling stopped. "Wait… what?"

"I was going to say yes," the blond repeated with a glare. "So, if you were joking you better clarify now so I can punch you and be done with this.”

"Why would you say _yes_?" Grantaire asked in astonishment.

"Because I _like_ you.”

" _Why?_ "

Enjolras groaned, "Why did you ask me out if you didn't think I would say yes?"

"I really did lose a bet."

Disappointment colored Enjolras face. "Great. Excellent. Then I suppose I should-" He lifted a fist, but didn't look like he really wanted to use it.

"Hang on! Bossuet and Bahorel made me do it because I can only assume they hate me and are sick of watching me pine away. I just panicked a bit. Don't punch me."

"Oh," Enjolras relaxed a bit. "Then you did mean it?"

"Only if it doesn't irreparably damage this fragile thing we call friendship."

“Okay.” Enjolras blinked down at him suddenly seeming to realize he was sitting on top of Grantaire in the middle of a graveyard. "You're not going to run if I let you up, are you? I feel weird having this conversation while you're laying on a grave."

"No promises." He let Enjolras pull him upward and did not run. There was an awkward pause. "Uh… so."

"Yes?"

"I like you and _apparently_ you like me."

Enjolras grimaced. "Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you don't believe me."

"Well, I'm still trying to process this. I'm a little sleep deprived and reality is getting a little weird."

"Let me be very clear,” Enjolras huffed, “I have liked you for a very long time."

"How long?"

"I don't know. I didn't realize it until it was suddenly a thing."

"Thanks, E, that's very fucking clear."

"I tried to ask you out at the Halloween party," Enjolras offered.

That had been almost two months ago. Grantaire had gotten very drunk that night and someone had knocked him out with a wine bottle to the head. Somewhere between the intoxication and the concussion, he had lost most memory of the night. "I don't remember that."

“You laughed in my face," Enjolras said, looking shockingly insecure.

"Oh… sorry."

"Yeah."

"I probably thought you were joking."

"Well, I was very glad you didn't remember because it was pretty humiliating."

"I'm really sorry.” Grantaire took a breath. “And so long as we are being clear, I liked you as soon as I saw you

"Even after I shouted at you in front of a room full of children?” They had met in the local historical society back when Grantaire was new to town. Enjolras was scrutinizing the historical accuracy of the displays and Grantaire and stumbled in on accident. They had somehow begun discussing the war of 1812 and things became a little heated. They were both now banned from the museum, but Enjolras continued to visit anyway.

"I appreciated your passion,” Grantaire smiled at the memory.

“Thank you, I think.” Enjolras looked as though he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He crossed and uncrossed his arms.

"Would you... Still be interested in going out with me?"

"So long as you are willing to ask me.”

“I think I just did, unless I’m hallucinating all of this.”

“I refuse to be a figment of your imagination.”

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Whatever, have we agreed on going out then?”

“Unless you want to finalize it with a hand shake or something.”

"Am I agreeing to the original parameters of the date?"

"If you want to."

"I think I do, but why did you ask me to watch a movie I would hate?"

"I didn't mean to say that. I do think you would hate it but in a fun way."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Admit it, Apollo,” Grantaire grinned, “you like to shout at the tv and you would gladly accept an excuse to do so."

"Fine," Enjolras sniffed. "Maybe you're right." He held out a hand. "I agree to dinner and watching a movie I'll hate."

Grantaire shook the hand. "When?" he asked, not releasing his grip.

"I have time tonight."

"Well, then if you don't mind popcorn for dinner."

"We can have a real dinner another night."

"If by some miracle I haven’t run you off by then.”

“You won’t.”

Grantaire laughed. “Then tonight it is… So, uh, cool." They were still shaking hands.

"Yes."

"This is good."

"It is good."

Now they were more holding hands than shaking them, staring awkwardly at each other.

Grantaire cleared his throat. "Uh, we should probably get back and let the others know you haven't murdered me."

"It's a long walk back. You made me run a long way."

"Yeah... Sorry about that. I didn't mean for all of this to go down in a graveyard. The ghosts will have a lot to gossip about tonight."

"That's okay."

"Is it?"

"Well, it's happened and I've accepted it. There isn't much more I can do about it now."

"Yeah... I guess we’ll be lucky if we haven’t been cursed… Uh, we haven't moved."

Enjolras released his hand and reached for the other. Their fingers intertwined as they walked hand in hand back to the Musain.

* * *

"R!" Bossuet leapt from his chair as they entered the building.  "You're alive!"

"And you're holding hands with Enjolras!" Joly cheered, standing above a mountain of first aid equipment.  

"Thank god, we thought you might have fucked it up," Bahorel breathed.

"He tried." Enjolras assured him.

Grantaire raised their intertwined hands. "Not hard enough, apparently."

"Luckily for you."

Grantaire snorted. "Ah we'll see about that, won't we? Besides, it’s more your luck I’m worried about."

Enjolras gave him an irritated look. “Never you mind my luck.”

“You’re adorable when you scowl at me. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.” Grantaire gave him a hopeless smile, which seemed to throw Enjolras off.

"I'm… I need to find Courf and Ferre,” he said through a flustered frown.

“They’re cleaning up the back room,” Jehan told him, “Ferre said you were going to be fine and there wasn’t much we could do for the two of you now anyway.”

Perhaps he had sensed Enjolras’ emotional state through their psychic connection.

“Good, well, I’m going to go talk to them.”

“You do that, E,” Bahorel snorted.

"Good luck, Enjolras," Grantaire grinned, squeezing his hand before releasing it.

“Thank you.” Enjolras squared his shoulders, cheeks flushed, and walked toward the back room.

The room was filled with giggles as soon as he disappeared.

“Tell us everything, R!” Jehan said, pushing Grantaire into a chair.

“Did he give you a passionate and dramatic confession?” Bossuet asked.

“Well, he threatened tackled me, and threatened to punch me.”

“Well… that doesn’t sound great.”

“Misunderstanding, we eventually cleared it up.” He elaborated on the rest of their confrontation, enduring much good-hearted teasing until Enjolras returned with his lieutenants in tow.

"I need to get home,” he addressed Grantaire, “What time do you want me over?"

"Does six work?"

"Yes,” Enjolras nodded, “I'll see you then." He gave a slightly awkward smile before turning to leave.

"No goodbye kiss?" Bossuet teased.

Enjolras glared at him before turning to Grantaire. Grantaire reflexively lifted his hands in surrender. Enjolras grabbed one of his raised hands and brought its back to his lips. "I'll see you tonight," he promised before making a dramatic turn and exiting the building.

Grantaire did not move, hand frozen midair.

"Wow, what a gentleman,” Feuilly snorted, “You okay, R?"

"Uh-huh." He lowered his hand.

"You sure about that?"

"Not even a little."

"I can’t wait to talk about this in my best man speech,” Bahorel bragged, “Your children will have me to thank

"Shut up,” Grantaire said, though he couldn’t suppress his smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not the only one who watches things for sole purpose of getting enraged, right? They would have watched a Neal Breen film in this case bc I think Enjolras brain would explode and r would love terrible movies. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry you read this trash, didn't even bother to properly write it.
> 
> I'm opens-up-4-nobody on tumblr if you want to say hi.
> 
> Thanks.


End file.
